


Next to Godliness? Please

by holyhael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort, Hurt Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a witch's hex destined for Cas hurts Dean instead, Cas gives Dean a bath, and they talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next to Godliness? Please

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, one shot. i hope it's half as cathartic for you to read as it was for me to write.

“I’m not an invalid,” Dean grumps, glaring ineffectively at Cas’ helping hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches his reflection in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Even peripherally Dean can tell his skin has lost a lot of color. Fucking witches.

“I never said you were,” Cas says. His deep voice never fails to soothe Dean’s nerves, even when those nerves are beyond weary and exacerbated. “Please, let me help you.”

“Fine,” Dean bites. He gets out of bed but does not take Cas’ proffered hand, at the expense of his shitty equilibrium. He wobbles slowly toward the bathroom. Cas follows right behind, not leaking an ounce of impatience toward Dean’s attitude nor his loud, uneven gait.

He doesn’t bother trying to close the bathroom door on Cas. He keeps Cas at his back as he lifts his shirt over his head. Every muscle he has aches, and the still-healing wounds scoring his sides sting. Dean bites his lip to hold back the whine building in his throat.

A cold touch alights on the longest gash, startling Dean. He flinches away and twists around to look at Cas. Cas is staring at his injuries forlornly, and Dean knows exactly what’s going on in that ancient mind of his. He lets out a tired sigh.

“It’s not your fault.” Dean swallows. Cas flicks up his blue gaze to meet Dean’s. “Stop blaming yourself.”

Cas clenches his jaw stubbornly.

“I’m serious. Fucking stop it,” Dean growls. “Jesus. How could you have known they put a whammy in your coat?”

“I could have not given it to you,” Cas says, and Dean sighs. “I could have checked the pockets first. I could have not hung it up where everyone had access to it.”

“And so could I. I mean, I could have told you that, warned you about that shit. You’d be surprised how many times someone slipped shit into my coat pockets when I hang them up at restaurants.”

Cas furrows his brows, thinking, then he takes a breath, and his shoulders slump. Reluctant, unhappy acceptance sits in his eyes.

“Help me with my jeans at least,” Dean says, eyes downward. “It’s fucking hell with the cast.”

Obediently, Cas reaches for Dean’s fly. Normally when Cas’ fingers are there, Dean is pressed up against a wall or lying on his back in bed, and little Dean awakens like a great, slumbering creature. But tonight there is nothing sexual in Cas’ attentions, and Dean finds himself glad for it. He and Cas just… go together. As stereotypical as it sounds, they read each other like books: Dean knows when Cas needs space, what makes him happy, how to push his buttons; Cas knows how Dean wants to be handled, what makes him throw fits, how to calm him down.

Dean steps out of his pants when Cas has worked them down to his ankles, and Dean takes his underwear off himself while Cas starts the bath up. The stream is cacophonous in the small room, nearly drowning Dean’s thoughts out of his head.

Cas guides Dean to the lip of the tub, then pushes him down with a hand on his shoulder. With Cas’ help, Dean eases into the basin, broken leg propped up on the side. Cas trails his fingers ticklishly on the tips of Dean’s dirty toes, making Dean kick out.

“Quit it!” he exclaims. Cas almost smirks as he grabs the bottle of motel-issued shampoo from the alcove above Dean’s head. “You could at least pretend to be enjoying yourself.”

“I don’t enjoy you being hurt.” Cas frowns. He squeezes a generous amount of soap into his palm and works it into a lather that he then rubs into Dean’s scalp. Dean is like putty under his crafty hands. His eyes flutter closed, and his neck goes lax.

“But you do like making me feel better,” Dean says. Cas concedes with a short hum as he works behind Dean’s ears, kneading in small, circular motions.

“Of course.” The chaste kiss he presses to Dean’s forehead does not surprise him, but it fills him with warmth in a way the hot water cannot, starting from his heart and spreading through him like a spell. A good spell, if such a thing exists.

Cas eventually retracts his hands and warns Dean he’s about to wash the soap away; Dean murmurs a soft okay. When the stream approaches, the small of his back clenches with anticipation, a reflex he’s never been able to shake no matter how many hair cuts or near-death experiences he has. Then, Cas lays a hand on the top of his head and brings the shower head close. The jet of water is therapeutic, making Dean groan with relief as it cleanses him.

“It feels good?” Cas guesses.

Dean nods. “Mmm. Yeah. That’s the stuff.”

Next Cas helps wash his body, using similar massage techniques as he did with Dean’s head. He pays most attention to Dean’s shoulders, which, according to him, are astonishingly tense, even after his five-star treatment. Dean uses an extra toothbrush to scrub the grave dirt from beneath his nails, just for the hell of it (and also it feels really good to be clean, like properly clean, in a way he hasn’t been since… five years ago, with Lisa. Shit).

His hands and the toothbrush fall into his lap. Cas leans forward with a frown. “Is everything all right?”

Dean nods absently. “Yeah. Just thinking about how fucked up this life is. This is probably the best bath of my life, and I’m sitting here in a motel tub, it’s kind of cold, my ass is starting to hurt, and my good-for-nothing leg is broken.” He jostles said leg, and it thumps back down on the tub with a feeble thud.

“Retirement is always an option.”

“It’s not. You know it’s not.”

Cas presses his lips into a line and looks down. The guilt at the thought of quitting flits across his expression, plain to see, so Dean turns at a better angle to kiss him. It brings Cas out of his thoughts, at least partly, and it comforts them both.

When they part, Dean realizes he’s been sitting under the shower for so long that the water’s gone cold, and his fingers are wrinkled like raisins. Cas’ clothes are splotched with water.

“Thanks for the bath,” Dean says.

Cas smiles, cupping Dean’s cheek in his hand. “It was my pleasure.” He leans back in to kiss Dean again.

 


End file.
